


Mountain Magic

by irrationalno



Category: Lupin III
Genre: F/M, Fujiko pov, Future Fic, Gen, goemon as we've never seen him before... probably, high-budget travel, low-budget travel, maybe mystery, unashamed meta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalno/pseuds/irrationalno
Summary: Fujiko is always leaving.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

It wasn’t Fujisan, but it was beautiful.

For someone who should be frankly too jaded to spend much time on the touristy sights, at this point, Fujiko found herself unable to look away from the snow-capped peak in the distance, sunset glow and all. She’d filled her fancy little DSLR with images, only partly because it was the obvious thing to do in case someone confiscated and checked it. (The real camera didn’t look anything like one.)

A long and busy week was winding to an end. She’d crossed off most of the names on her list of contacts, and progress was being made. It satisfied her workaholic side. Almost. There was also the trek to prepare for, though. And it was starting only three days away. There was just one place left on her itinerary for the day. Then dinner; then to retreat to the hotel and memorize all her maps.

She fell in behind the local women on their way to the monastery, who were catching up on each other’s lives and current affairs. Earphones plugged into nothing, Fujiko paid attention to the cadences of their speech. She knew little Nepali and less Tibetan—no reason not to pick up some more.

One of the older women was talking about a granddaughter in America. The granddaughter had somehow made it through college, and now showed no signs of getting married. Instead she was determined to become a famous singer. The grandmother had her back to Fujiko, but Fujiko could hear the smile behind the words anyway.

Fujiko’s steps faltered for a moment. She hadn’t thought about her mother in a long time.

The bells guided her up the flights of stairs, and she was grateful for the small new exertion. But she was unsettled now, and fumbled through her prayers, bowing and murmuring mechanically. Suddenly the sincere faith of the other women in that space was suffocating, their quiet strength too familiar.

She ran up more stairs, to the third-floor courtyard. It was quiet, the valley opening out before her eyes in ripples of blue-green. The beautiful snowy peak was veiled with clouds. There was a fine, energising bite to the air. She turned up the collar of her jacket and leaned against the parapet.

And didn’t even realise she’d taken out a cigarette and was even about to light it, until she was interrupted by a cough from behind.

“Sorry,” she said around the cigarette, flicking the lighter closed, and turned. One of the monks had climbed up and was now standing by the stairs, a softly disapproving saffron statue. “I was just about to head back dow—”

“ _Fujiko?_ ”

The cigarette fell from her lips. The failing light showed a long face, finely arched brows, and tonsure.

“Fuck me sideways and call me daddy,” said Fujiko. “ _Goemon?_ ”

The monk blushed and frowned at the same time.

She was glad to see him. It would not be an exaggeration to say that her heart leapt. Many memories, unwelcome in their intensity, were pushed aside by this bizarre spectre. She’d long thought that Goemon was secretly vain about his hair, and the shock of seeing him altogether without his signature locks— _and_ Zantetsu—was sobering.

She thought for a second that perhaps he was in disguise and it was a bald cap, one of the more mundane latex wonders in Lupin’s collection.

“You look well,” said Goemon, sounding miserable.

“You look… well,” said Fujiko. She hadn’t seen him in months. Coincidentally it was almost a year now since their trip to Osorezan, a trip without Lupin and Jigen. Yes, those memories were nicer. Much nicer.

“I have been training,” said Goemon. As if she couldn’t guess _that_. “You’re here for a job?”

She wouldn’t ask about Lupin and Jigen. She shrugged. “Kind of 50/50 work and pleasure.”

His face, which was this close to ideal for a monk, darkened. Incredible, considering how dark the nights got in the hills. “You’re not travelling alone,” he said, touching at the interrogative. But only touching.

“There’s five of us,” said Fujiko, pulling at her collar again. “But the pleasure’s all mine.”

She could see him trying to work it out. It did something to his pupils. She shook her head. “I’m going trekking, Goemon.”

He looked like he was ready with a follow-up question, or several, rapid-fire style. Ultimately he held his tongue. Stood there, with his long face and long body and long silence.

Fujiko hated when things got awkward. The novelty of his appearance had faded. She’d lied, of course. It wasn’t 50/50 work and pleasure. The maps wouldn’t memorize themselves, and she wanted to beat the Saturday night dinner crowd at the place she’d just decided on. With a small, polite nod, she made her way to the staircase.

“When do you start out? On the trek?”

“Wednesday morning,” said Fujiko, not looking over her shoulder, and walked downstairs.

 

 

*

 

 

On Sunday morning Fujiko woke before the alarm, drooling on the spine of her notebook. It was half past six when she started her jog, breathing deep of the crisp air. A girl no older than nine or ten waved at her, cycling up the village path. Fujiko grinned and waved back. She’d become a known face in the old neighbourhood thanks to her daily workouts… and living next door to a school.

(Kids know all kinds of interesting things, and are always up for gossip.)

“Tomoko-san!” said a man, also waving at her. Fujiko kept the smile plastered on her face. It was Bhuwan, proprietor of the bar she’d had dinner at her first night in Darjeeling. A big-chested, boisterous man, he, too, was full of stories, and just as generous with them as with the free drinks. He was also unmarried, and had sandwiched this bit of information between some highly technical descriptions of the local flora and fauna.

He was dishy, Fujiko thought. Honestly. Why had she gone for such a silly fake name? But it wasn’t as silly as the other fake name. (It was amusing that people thought her real name was Mine Fujiko.) She watched him as he ran on ahead in his hoodie and shorts.

The shorts did a lot for his ass.

She jogged steadily, pausing at the usual spot to do some free-hand exercises. A teenaged couple was perched on the stones, girl and boy, stuck together at the sides, their feet dangling over nothing. They’d let their fluffy-necked mountain dog off the leash. Fujiko indulged the excitable dog, sharing her routine. It jumped and yelped around her for a spell. Then it trotted back to the teenagers, and the girl gathered it to her side without a break in her conversation.

More people had appeared in the meantime, some headed to school, many to work. SUVs and jeeps rolled past, packed full of tourists. The overall pace was slow, yet confident.

Fujiko speeded up to compensate for the easier downhill walk. As she turned with the bend in the road, the last of the shredded-cotton clouds parted, and there was that snow-capped mountain again. It took her breath away—whatever was left after cardio.

She took a few more pictures, this time with her phone, from the terrace of a small roadside diner.

“Please let me buy breakfast.”

Fujiko lowered the phone. Instead of a few pictures, she’d taken a dozen.

“You stalking me or something?”

“I eat here every day,” said Goemon, standing on the very edge of the wooden planks. It was his way of being impressive, and she supposed it wasn’t too blatant. He’d traded in the robes for track pants and a t-shirt. She could stare and be rude, or stare and make him blush. She chose to stare.

“I’ve been here a while,” she said. “Didn’t see you till last night.”

“I was at another monastery. There was a seminar.” Goemon circled around her and stepped into the diner. She followed. It was true that she was hungry.

Inside, it was dark, only one of the mountain-facing windows cracked open. She took in the sparse but tasteful decoration. The calendar on the wall behind the payment counter had a painting of a galaxy. A man was slumped at one of the tables. Fujiko’s eyes skipped over his silhouette. Force of habit. But he was just asleep.

The woman who took their orders smiled more at Goemon than at her. Fujiko was amused. “Manju is an honest, law-abiding woman. If only she knew some of the things you’ve done…”

She’d expected one of his adorable blushes, or a brusque dismissal of her teasing. But his face fell, and stayed that way. His ears stuck out a little. She’d never had an opportunity to notice. “Why don’t you tell her, then.”

“Oh Goemon, I was just pulling your leg.” Fujiko stretched back in her chair to peer out the window, her gaze drawn irresistibly to the mountain.

She had a feeling something had happened, something more dramatic than Goemon finding himself in dire straits for the umpteenth time because he’d been thinking with his dick. (So different from Lupin. So similar.) But if he wasn’t willing to volunteer details, she was perfectly fine not knowing. It wasn’t anything to do with her, and she’d be damned if she felt bad about it.

What did they say these days? Don’t do emotional labour for men!

Not that she’d made a reputation out of giving much of a fuck. (Pun intended.) Just as well.

Manju returned with food and they ate in silence, Goemon chewing slowly on his cabbage dumplings, Fujiko making quick work of the pork. The rest of the day sprawled ahead, lazy and resplendent with possibility. The weather was blessedly clear, so she could go hanggliding in the valley. She could go for a drive up to the border. Any border. She could have a big lunch somewhere expensive, linger over it, read a book.

What was it like, having a nine-to-five job? It was hard to imagine. She’d lived to be 30 off her wits alone—eh, those and some luck. She hadn’t done too shabbily, she thought, all things considered. Incited a coup here, bankrupted a museum there. She’d played at every profession in the world, a star actress no one’d heard of or given awards. She’d made friends along the way, too.

Friends?

She looked at Goemon. It was possible he was just lonely, but he was the one who’d kept turning down jobs with the gang. She was on the outside, and she could see... She could _see_...

Goemon was still eating when Fujiko got up, coolly walked to the counter and laid down some cash. “Back to work for me. See you, space cowboy.”

She was always leaving, wasn’t she? It was its own aesthetic. Its own ethic. She was always riding a motorcycle into a garish sunset, riding it over the wasteland of some man’s voice. She was Alexandria, and Alexandra, and Mine Fujiko, and a woman whose real name no one knew anymore.

 

 

*

 

 

“You should be careful with the dogs,” said a man, and bought her a drink. She’d gone to a new one this time, but she was running out of bars the longer she stayed around these parts. This one was full of foreigners, and mostly white foreigners at that. There was a small group of Italians laughing uproariously at something on their phones. A German woman and a Dutch woman were comparing experiences of local train travel. The Dutch woman’s male companion was shooting looks in Fujiko’s direction. Increasingly unsubtle ones.

“Careful with the dogs?” said Fujiko, resorting to the classics. Answer a question with a question, and most people are just happy to talk more about themselves. Give away nothing.

“A man got eaten alive by a pack of mountain dogs just last year,” said the man. He was American, middle-aged, and stank of desperation. His beard was carefully shaped to hide the weak chin. Fujiko played with the rim of the glass. Her nostrils flared as she rolled the liquid around in the glass. She wanted to laugh. But not over the man who’d been eaten alive, no.

“Oh no,” she said. “He was a local?”

“Yeah, yeah, local. Worked in one of the hotels. Was late getting home, is all. They tore him to pieces. Some say they weren’t dogs at all.”

Fujiko let her glance slide, as the man fixed his on her fingers’ play. One of the Italians was hungry, why wasn’t he getting his food? The world was unfair.

“What could they be if not dogs?”

“Beats me,” said the American. “Hey, don’t mind me saying this, but it’s so cool you’re travelling on your own as an Asian woman. Independent women are so cool.”

“Uh huh,” said Fujiko. “Oh, I think you just dropped something?”

The man turned his head in the direction Fujiko was tilting her chin. Then he looked down at the floor. Fujiko slipped off her bar stool and away.

(Only an hour or so later, the American would find himself in trouble for having pocketed the Dutch man’s watch, and soon the local jail.)

The cold night air was good. Fujiko was walking, that was what she did. An independent Asian woman. She found herself window-shopping. Tea, rugs, jewellery, baked goods, woollen hats.

She’d somehow survived her childhood and gone through her young adulthood like a meteor. Burnt through the atmosphere, killed some dinosaurs. She’d joked about it, but she honestly hadn’t thought too far ahead. And neither had Lupin. They’d had that in common.

What was the difference?

The difference was unspeakable. Fujiko stopped in front of one shop, the angle of the display case and the configuration of street lights suddenly capturing her face, one harsh slice of it.

She smiled at it. She bought a woollen hat and went back to the hotel.

Access to the roof was barred from the guests. That was where Fujiko ended up, not being one of the usual guests. The pinpricks of light along the hills echoed the smattering of stars in the sky. Someone was playing music very loudly further down the valley, and the sound floated up. Dance music that made her want to dance. Firecrackers erupted in the inky dark.

She’d rarely danced for fun in her 20s, she remembered. ( _Wasn’t it fun?_ said Lupin in her head. _Fuji-cakes, are you saying all of it **wasn’t** for fun?_ )

She cast out the Lupin voice and sat down on the edge, gloved hands feeling the solidity of the surface. She sat the way she’d seen the teenagers that morning. Dangling her feet.

Someone sat down beside her.

“You _are_ stalking me. Is training that boring?”

“Training is fine,” said Goemon. The omission was telling.

“I give up. What’s going on? Why go this far?”

Another constipated silence. Fujiko sighed.

Goemon looked at her, and at that moment Fujiko jumped.

It would come back in fragments, later. The soft wind going whiplike. Goemon’s preternatural reflexes only grabbing hold of her left boot, a curdled scream that was drowned out by one huge whooshing firecracker explosion. The happiness that bubbled up in her lungs as she swung from the parapet, secured by the rappelling cord and the harness under her jacket.

She was laughing as he pulled her up. She saw that he was so angry he’d half-considered cutting her free to plummet down to her death. Like one of his useless objects.

“You screamed like a baby,” she said, wheezing. She was lying flat on the concrete. “A tantrumy baby.”

“This is not funny,” said Goemon. “Why—what is _wrong_ with you?”

“It’s very funny. I was testing my equipment, you dolt. That’s why I was on the roof. I’m a pro,” she was wheezing again, “Fessional. Fuck!”

She now understood that the pressure on her lungs was because of Goemon, who was wrapped around her torso, like the fastest-growing weed, or the prettiest ribbon. And he was deadweight, his long chin was sticking into her sternum, and he was shaking.

“Hey,” she tried again. “Hey. Did you actually think I was... Hey, Goemon, I’m fine.”

Goemon made a noise that could have been a sniffle, then sat up, releasing her from the vacuum seal of his anguish. He peered down at her. “I can see that,” he said, and _she_ could see he wanted her. Badly.

She wanted him, too. So it wasn’t so bad.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% an excuse to write fujiko (and samurai friendo). no beta we post like men. there's gonna be more. loosely connected to some themes in my other, oneshot lupin iii pieces, but still self-contained.


	2. Chapter 2

Goemon was sitting on the couch in the room when she came out of the shower. He’d seemingly gone back into his shell in the intervening time. The tonsure highlighted the long planes of his face, and there was no trace of his moment of passion earlier on the roof.

Fujiko scrunched her wet hair up with a t-shirt, thinking about what was on the agenda.

Hair drying and laundry bag filled, she bypassed him, heading to her desk. It was set up against one of the windows. The long curtains were pulled closed to stave off the cold wind. She picked up her magnifying glass and examined the satellite map printout she’d pinned in place.

It was late in the day to be comparing routes, but it was always good to have a few backup plans. Terrain conditions and political situations could both change overnight, considerably for the worse. The toughest trek routes would have few rest lodges on the way, and weight restrictions and the physical demands of the trip meant that she could only bring the very lightest of her multifunctional, portable devices.

For the hundredth time since she’d first decided to do this, she wondered why she was going into so much trouble, travelling on foot with an unknown mixed group. A chopper drop and grab would have been much more comfortable and so much faster, even though such an operation require an associate. It wasn’t like airspace regulations would have been difficult to work around, with her contacts and resume.

After a couple of hours or so of crunching data in her head, Fujiko put the glass down and sighed. She’d circled most of the stops on each route and made a few notes in her head. To be honest, she was not looking forward to meeting the party. Somehow she’d gotten used to being _herself_ , over the past week, despite the fake names.

A few years ago she would have balked at the idea that there was a core identity to her, shying away from what seemed like a conservative notion. She truly had believed that the only safety lay in embracing constant change, and so was the pleasure. And yeah, that had been true. And still was. For the most part.

Fujiko leaned back in her chair, feet flat on the ground as the front two legs of the chair tipped into the air. She began rocking slowly, keeping the balance, putting her hands over her eyes to soothe the strain.

She was imagining what the place looked like. No photo had ever been taken that she could dig up, not even grainy old ones. It could be something like the giant crystal caves she’d gone to with Lupin and the others, all those years back. Or maybe there was some kind of elaborately carved secret facility, abandoned for decades, but still protected by security she’d have to think her way past.

Maybe there would be nothing there at all. Maybe all this was for nothing.

Fujiko rubbed at the side of her head. She wanted coffee. But it might be better to sleep.

Her custom-modded Suunto showed that it was two in the morning. She left it on top of her papers. It was a good thing that she wasn’t meeting up with the others until the afternoon.

Goemon was still sitting on the couch, lotus style. She watched him for a moment. His eyes were closed, but that could just mean he was lost in meditation, not catching a nap. She hadn’t asked him what his schedule was like, but it had to be less flexible than he was making it look. He’d spent a big chunk of Sunday hanging around her. Did trainee martial monks get Sundays off?

The thought of Goemon playing truant from “school” made her smile.

She moved out into the terrace, a donut propped between her teeth, dragging one of the heavy blankets from the hotel bed. Little lights still sparked across the valley, but otherwise all was dark.

She wanted to watch the sunrise. She wasn’t so sleepy, right now. The donut was soft, not too sweet, exactly the kick she’d needed. It was gone in a few bites, still leaving her satisfied. Brushing the crumbs carefully off the blankets, she drew her feet up and folded the blankets one more time around herself.

Fujiko woke up to an intense red glow. Her butt was numb thanks to the uncomfortable angle she’d fallen asleep in. It didn’t matter, though, because the sight was amazing.

She’d seen it every day for a week, now. She’d seen objectively more breathtaking sights before. Well, objective didn’t count for _shit_.

She could feel his presence behind her, lingering at the doorway. “Goemon.”

He took that as a tacit invitation and went to stand at the wooden rail. He was shirtless, evidently freshly bathed. It reminded her of running into him… just the other day, actually. Right.

Time passed strangely in the mountains.

His body was warmed by the reflected glow from the incipient sunrise. Not a bad look on its own, but definitely enhanced by the ambient light. Cinematic. He played the part well enough, with his stoic demeanour and everything.

Goemon turned to her and said, “I am expected to return to training.”

“Get some breakfast if you want? I’m ordering room service.” She paused. “No, that’s not anytime soon. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Fujiko had another day left in town, and she’d be going straight to Macau afterwards. She doubted they’d be meeting again anytime soon.

Goemon looked out across the valley. A small red ghost floated up above the cresting ribbons of dark clouds, like a child being birthed. It took time, and the sky was filled with many subtle, pale hues. In another week she would be higher, east, following yet another crazy trail to hoped-for treasures. Lather, rinse, repeat.

She had every intention of making a brief stop at the base camp if there was no serious logistical problem. The view from there would be even more impressive than the view around here.

The sun emerged fully, a circle of flame. Goemon stepped away from the railing, and came to stand in front of her.

Fujiko gave him a light smile, not really able to read his body language, not really trying.

He crouched down, propped up on his knees. The look in his eyes was more focused now. More readable.

He first put his mouth on her temple, the side closest to him. Right on top of the little vein that had been throbbing away for most of the night, a stress headache she’d tried to ignore. As she leaned into the kiss, an edge of the blanket slid off her shoulder. He caught it and replaced it, smoothing it down with his hand. His thin lips were hot against her cheek, and she turned her head a fraction. Her eyes fluttered closed as Goemon smudged a slower kiss against her mouth. No sign of hurry.

Fujiko’s hand dragged up the side of his neck, fingers splaying over his skull.

Funny. She’d thought of what his long hair would feel like between her fingers, if they kissed. A long time ago. The new texture was not unpleasant at all, and he didn’t seem to mind as she rubbed gently at the back of his head.

She didn’t think she tasted amazing, what with having fallen asleep for hours, but at any rate it wasn’t putting Goemon off. For her turn, she thought he tasted almost sweet. A bright, sweet taste, like spring water. There was no way he’d slipped out of the hotel to bathe in a nearby waterfall or something like that, definitely not. _Right?_ He pulled away eventually, breathing hard.

“I have wanted to kiss you…” said Goemon. He had a way of making vague declarations sound bold, conclusive. It was a complete sentence and it made sense. It made complete sense, in fact. He could kiss her for a while and then run off to his wretched school.

“Come to bed with me,” said Fujiko, looking steadily at him.

His face was red when he dove back in for another kiss, this time a more intense kiss. It wasn’t from the light anymore. The sky was gold and blue, and she was shrugging off the blanket. Goemon’s right hand drifted over her stomach, over the unzipped jacket, then slipped under. His left hand folded over her shoulder, gripping, then loosening its hold.

“Yes,” said Goemon.

 

 

*

 

 

“Fujiko,” said Goemon. He was sweating buckets, arms slung around her waist.

Fujiko smiled. She was sitting between his legs, just as naked at him. “Too much like homework?”

His eyes flashed for a second in fear or paranoia. “I never told you anything about that.”

She patted his chest, a soft reassuring pat she chased up with a quick tweak of one pale nipple. He groaned, growing harder between them.

“Don’t worry,” said Fujiko. “You haven’t broken your vow. It’s just that I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Goemon switched to distracting her with kisses. He was actually pretty good at ferreting out all the sweet spots on just the upper half of her body with his eager mouth. He licked the thin skin between her breasts, on her sternum.

He wasn’t even rough with her breasts, and the bar was almost on the ground for _that_. As naturally large as they were, they’d started sagging with age, but she was dealing well enough with that. Fujiko’s back arched as he moved down, latching onto her nipples, sucking them gently in turn. He had big hands and slender fingers, and they slid up and down her sides, never clamping down, but almost stroking in a soothing pattern. He seemed fascinated by the light dusting of hair under her arms, something she was dimly aware he couldn’t have much seen before.

Fujiko put her arms around his neck and raised herself into his lap. He stared at her, eyes a little wild.

Then she gripped him with one hand and lowered her hips around him. The flush on his face almost matched the shade of his cock, and was now travelling down his neck, pinkening his upper chest.

Slowly, as if following an ancient script, his hands met under the dip of her back, cradling her body.

“Fujiko,” he said again.

She wasn’t moving and neither was he. He wasn’t too much to take, nothing more than a throb inside her cunt. She could do this for hours.

Apparently, so could he.

“Don’t you want this?” said Fujiko. Goemon groaned again, but it sounded suspiciously like a sob.

“I want… I _want_.”

She moved her hips, maybe not even a square inch. His strong thighs were already trembling.

“Show me what you learned,” said Fujiko, breathing against his Adam’s apple. He swallowed convulsively, his smooth throat bared to her teeth. She wondered how many deluded women they had training at that school of his, with their dreams of second-best spiritual enlightenment. It wasn’t jealousy she felt, although that would have been simple and acceptable.

It was contempt. And, just a bit, _disappointment_. Though she’d managed it well yesterday, seeing him at the monastery.

“I can’t,” said Goemon, harshly. “It’s all wrong.”

Fujiko stopped moving. She hadn’t expected the outburst. He’d been talking about disciplining his “baser” urges for years. It had been hilarious at times, and she didn’t get the fuss. There was no shortage of potential partners, she’d thought, if only Goemon got over some of his hang-ups. From what she knew, there wasn’t any particularly sad reason he had them.

“You don’t want that kind of control?”

“Not like that. Not anymore.”

Another statement. But he was trying to burn the truth of it into her retinas, going by how he was looking at her. Whatever that truth was.

Fujiko kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. He lifted her up with both hands, off his body, and set her on the bed. Then he guided her onto her back. She pulled his head down for another, deeper kiss. He lay down beside her and Fujiko threw one leg over him, drawing him back to her body. They mapped each other’s skin with restless hands, lingering over older and newer scars.

She found herself quite liking this newer Goemon. No need to worry if or how long this would last. There was a time for planning things to every last detail, and there was a time for living wholly in the moment.

You just had to switch around carefully for best effect.

Fujiko reached for Goemon, but he pushed her hand away and climbed down the bed instead to settle between her thighs, his face inches from her vulva.

It was the easiest thing in the world to put her hand on his head, in some kind of profane benediction. His little huffing breaths broke a row of goosebumps along her arms, and she touched herself, drawing faint circles along her own stomach. Goemon gently parted her folds with his fingers, nosed against the slick seam of her flesh.

Her clit pulsed, the head stiffening in the cool air of the room. Goemon stared, eyes wide. She stroked the nape of his neck. He wasted no more time, closing his mouth over her.

Fujiko wanted to see him some more, but he was doing good, good enough that her eyes were drooping shut. As she leisurely hiked one leg over his shoulder, she suddenly remembered something absurd, an incident from a lifetime away—she’d walked into a room behind a lover (friend, would-be soulmate), and he’d been there, he and one other man. Goemon had been so angry to see her that he’d sliced the table he’d been sitting at, and clean through a vase of roses, spilling the whole mess to the floor…

He looked up at her now. His face was glistening from her juices, wet and soft as a flower. She smiled and nudged his shoulder blade with the heel of her foot, and his mouth was back on her.

 

 

*

 

 

Another clear afternoon, another tiny local bar. Fujiko nursed a rum and coke as Birendra, the group guide, gave someone directions to their meeting place. The group had been cut down by two already, both experienced trekkers and mountaineers, for undisclosed reasons; Fujiko had a bad feeling about this. But she’d have to see.

So far, besides Birendra, they had one Indian field zoologist from Chennai, a food blogger from Hong Kong, and two older men from Sapporo who had had too many questions for “Tomoko”. And there was someone else who was making them all wait. Whoever this celebrity was, he’d already irritated Birendra somehow, because Fujiko could detect an edge to the politeness with which he was repeating his instructions.

“She looks like Tomo-chan,” said one Japanese man to the other, almost inaudible to Fujiko across the bar, but not quite. She’d tried to figure out if they were work colleagues, a couple, or just friends, and decided they were friends. The other man gave the first man a Look, the kind that universally signalled, _not so loud_.

That’s all right, thought Fujiko, amused. She was only passing familiar with the pro wrestler who had turned out to be her new namesake, but she was happy with the alias. A pro wrestler wasn’t a bad namesake to have.

The zoologist wasn’t drinking at all, she noticed. This woman was statuesque, all luminous dark skin and thick black hair in a low ponytail. They’d exchanged greetings earlier, and Fujiko immediately liked her intelligence and quietness.

That last point was in contrast to the food blogger, who was in his early twenties and had been updating Instagram from almost the second he’d shown up. He’d announced to the entire bar that this was his first ever serious trek, receiving a dry _Congratulations_ from the bartender. The man had even roped in the dignified Birendra for a series of selfies. Fujiko made sure to sit as much in the dark as possible, just to confound the guy’s serial clicker of a phone camera.

The zoologist shrugged at Fujiko. The two women exchanged smiles.

Birendra was talking to the bartender now, in a low voice. Fujiko’s energies were so occupied by language acquisition via eavesdropping, watching the Indian woman tapping a curious rhythm against her mineral water, and thinking about Goemon’s beautiful, exhausted body curled up on her hotel bed as she was getting ready… that she almost missed the moment their last group member finally appeared.

In retrospect, she should have known. At least suspected. It was the middle-aged white American from the other day. With the careful beard and the… attitude. Birendra introduced him to them mechanically. Fujiko filed away the name for investigation. He was a professor of computer science. And he was smirking at her.

That bad feeling from earlier? It was officially bad news.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to bump up the rating for this chapter. i wrote hetsex sorry not sorry. (do i like fujimon? who, me?) getting closer to the actual adventure!


End file.
